


Zazikel's Blessing

by XatAdaar



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Gen, M/M, Rough Sex, addiction mention, as are all these next tags, explicit rating for third chapter, light humiliation, samsonpositive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-04 06:51:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4128834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XatAdaar/pseuds/XatAdaar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adaar was granted a new lease on life, and Samson had been given a small finder's fee.  They had parted ways, and Samson had assumed that would be the end of it.<br/>And yet here they were, nearly two years later.  The kid was not only alive, but thriving, and Samson couldn't help but feel at least partially responsible.  It felt damn nice, to know that his own stupid tendency to stick his neck out and take pity on the dangerous and the downtrodden had actually worked out for once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For #samsonpositive weekend! 
> 
> A little fic about Samson's role in the life of my Inquisitor, Yaanos Adaar. The entirety of these events are set during the early years of DA2, about ten years before the events of Inquisition. This first part is sweet and fluffy and full of exposition. 
> 
> For more information about Yaanos Adaar, check out his tag on my tumblr: xatadaar.tumblr.com/tagged/yaanos-adaar.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

Samson raised a hand to shade his eyes from the blinding light of the setting sun, scowling slightly as he shifted his weight from foot to foot. It had been almost a week since he'd last had access to lyrium, so the screeching cries of the gulls were making his head throb, and the bright sunlight wasn't doing much to help. For what felt like the hundredth time in the day, he found himself pondering what sorts of things he'd be forced to do to earn his next draught of lyrium.

He'd scarcely begun down that dangerous line of thinking when he felt a strong grip on his shoulder.

_Shit. Another visit from the damned guards?_

Samson clenched his free hand into a fist, whirled around, and came face-to-face with a seven-foot-tall horned giant. The tension drained away nearly immediately, but he was of half a mind to slam his fist into the closest part of the qunari he could reach anyway. Instead, he felt a wry grin split his face, and he settled for clapping the giant on the bicep.

"Took ya long enough," the ex-templar groused, seconds before he felt those massive arms wind around his waist in a crushing hug. "Oi--!" was all he managed to sputter as half the air was expelled from his lungs with the force of the mage's embrace. He felt himself being lifted, and his feet were almost entirely off the ground before he finally had sense enough to cuff the qunari's shoulder, a wordless signal for 'enough already' that the giant seemed to understand well enough. Almost instantly, the qunari set him back on his feet and took a step back with a sheepish smile on his face.

"I am sorry," the mage murmured, seeming thoroughly abashed as Samson pressed his hands to his lower back and pushed until there was an audible crack. His words were heavily accented and his voice was far softer than might have been expected from someone of his size and race, but his lavender eyes were warm, and his smile was genuine.

"It's good to see ya again, Yaanos," Samson grunted as he rolled his shoulders and fixed the qunari with a fond, if exasperated, grin.

"I did not expect you would be this..." The mage gestured to Samson's face, then down towards his torso and his hips with a slight grimace, and he seemed to be struggling to find the appropriate word. "You are... smaller, more... thin?"

"Yeah, I've lost some weight," Samson conceded with a scowl of his own. Being a washed-up addict who spent more on lyrium than on food would do that to a person, he found himself thinking bitterly. "But ya still need to watch who you go haulin' off their feet like that around here. I've got a reputation to maintain."

Yaanos did not seem fazed. "Too much weight," he pressed, a slight crease appearing between his brows as his frown deepened. "You need to eat. When did you eat before?"

Samson shifted uncomfortably, using the excuse of continuing to wring out his sore joints to avoid eye contact. "Not sure. Last night, maybe?" In truth, it had been the morning before, when Thrask had stopped by to slip him a bit of cold meat pie and a half-eaten apple, but Adaar didn't need to know that.

Even that conservative answer displeased his companion, though, for the qunari drew himself up to his full height with an indignant flaring of his nostrils - if Samson hadn't known the kid's history, he would've made a comment on how very much he resembled a bull just then - and took a few long strides past Samson. "Come with me. Now, please. We are going to eat. The Hanging Man is still good, yes?"

The ex-templar hung back, eyeing the mage reluctantly. "It's alright, kid, I didn't agree to meet ya so ya'd feed me." Still, Yaanos was unmoved, and even extended a hand toward him, seeming as though he'd readily drag Samson there by the hand like a child if he didn't come quietly. After hesitating a few seconds longer, he heaved a sigh and trudged along after the qunari, lightly swatting his hand away with a snort. "Alright, alright, fine. I'd find somewhere to hide that staff once we get there, though. And it's the _Hanged_ Man, for whatever that's worth."

Apparently, the kid was already way ahead of him.

"Renting a room here for an entire week, eh? Damn, you're making more money than I thought," Samson commented with a low whistle once they'd found a free table. "An' here I thought you'd be barely scrapin' by."

Yaanos laughed softly and shook his head as he settled into the seat opposite Samson, his staff safely stowed away in said room. "No, I do not get much money. But, I do not need much money, so it is alright. Besides, I owe you bigger-- more than this."

Samson opened his mouth to protest, but the bartender appeared at their table before he could speak, a full tankard in each hand and steaming bowls of something that made Samson's mouth water tucked skillfully into the crook of each elbow. Carefully, he set each mug and bowl onto the table in front of them, then stepped away after Yaanos nodded gratefully in his direction.

"Rabbit and lentil stew," the mage announced proudly, mere seconds after the bartender had departed. "This is the first food I ate here. You gave it to me, do you remember it?"

Samson eyed the bowl for a moment, then turned his gaze back to Yaanos with a smile, one brow raised. "The very same, aye. I'm impressed you remembered that, honestly."

"Always, I will remember it. It was the first thing I could eat by my... without..." Yaanos paused, pursing his lips and staring down at the broth thoughtfully, once again seeming to have difficulty finding the word he sought. Samson watched him patiently and said nothing, simply reaching out to idly run his fingers along the handle of the mug.

"Free!" the qunari blurted suddenly, bringing his fist down into his palm with a loud smack that caused several of the patrons nearest them to look about in concern. "The first thing I could eat when I was free."

Samson smiled at him then, feeling an undeniable swell of pride in his chest. "Aye, and you're a free man still. Freedom suits you, kid."

"It is because of you," Yaanos asserted, his expression growing serious once more. He was watching the ex-templar with that intense gaze of his, and he'd folded his hands in front of him to lean over them earnestly. "You helped me, and because of you, I am this way. I cannot pay you enough back, never. You saved me."

Samson said nothing, meeting those bright amethyst eyes for a moment before dropping his gaze to the table and drawing his cup closer to himself.

He didn't think he'd ever forget the sight of him, the first time they met. His lips were cracked and caked with dried blood around the edges, where small, partially-healed puncture wounds were still evident, and there were dark, ugly bruises around his throat and along his shoulders and upper arms, easily visible through the tattered mess of burlap that passed for his shirt. His eyes were wide and wary, darting about like a winded, wounded beast's, but his mannerisms were reserved and unassuming, and he did as he was told, when he could understand it.

The kid was hardly even twenty, spoke Tevene almost exclusively, and was both a mage _and_ a qunari, a combination that ensured he would be feared and reviled by nearly everyone in the Free Marches. And yet, there he was, an escaped slave fresh off the boat that had taken him from Tevinter to Rivain, then from Rivain to Kirkwall, and Samson couldn't help but take pity on the great horned beast. He'd brought him off the docks, bought him a bowl of stew with the last of his coin for that week, and found him places to hide for a few months until one of his contacts tipped him about a passing mercenary company that would be more than happy to take a Tal-Vashoth mage to bolster their ranks. Yaanos was granted a new lease on life, and Samson had been given a small finder's fee. They had parted ways, and Samson had assumed that would be the end of it.

And yet here they were, nearly two years later. The kid was not only alive, but thriving, and Samson couldn't help but feel at least partially responsible. It felt damn nice, to know that his own stupid tendency to stick his neck out and take pity on the dangerous and the downtrodden had actually worked out for once.

"Well, your Common's gotten better, I'll say that much," Samson admitted with a dry chuckle as he raised the tankard to his lips.

Yaanos beamed at him, ignoring all traces of sarcasm in the face of even that faint praise. "I have been practicing much-- AS much as i can," he informed the ex-templar matter-of-factly. Then, after a pause, his grin turned cheeky. "My company, they help, because they talk all the time. I hear them even when I am sleeping, and I think, 'Am I dreaming?' But no, there they are, STILL talking."

Samson downed a hefty gulp of his ale, grimacing at the familiar burn in the back of his throat and grinning wide - he'd missed that burn, damn it - as he turned to the qunari. "Must be a pain in the arse, for a quiet bloke like you. Or maybe you were only quiet back then 'cause you could barely string together a sentence in Common?"

Yaanos shrugged, his expression amiable as he shifted to raise a hand in a noncomittal wave. "No, I am used to being quiet. Before now, I do not have-- uh, DID not have much to say."

Samson's smile faded slightly as he leaned forward, eyes focusing intently on the mage. "You're still gettin' along with them alright, then?" He raised one dark, thick brow as he continued. "No problems because of those horns or that staff, eh?"

"No," Yaanos was quick to reply, shaking his head. "They are good to me, very good. They are... good people. Like you, Samson."

Samson was quiet at that, watching Yaanos for a moment longer before breaking eye contact and scoffing softly under his breath as he seized his spoon with sudden aplomb. As he lifted another mouthful of stew toward his lips, he could see Yaanos' smile widening in his peripheral vision, and was tempted to swear at the great gray fool.

Instead, he swallowed the broth - it had never tasted half so rich before, but whether it was the cook improving or the spice of hunger working its magic, he couldn't tell - and signaled the barkeep to bring another round.


	2. Chapter 2

"I am learning to read and write the Common letters, too," Yaanos blurted suddenly, as Samson was downing his third ale of the evening.

Lowering the now-empty mug to the table, the ex-templar raised an inquisitive brow, impressed despite himself. "Is that right?" He eyed the qunari with a grin beginning to blossom across his lips as that quiet, fierce pride flared up in his chest once more. _The kid is learning to **read** , dammit. By the Maker._ Were he a little drunker, he might've shed a tear. Instead, he sniffed and scratched at the stubble on his jaw in his best attempt at nonchalance. "Didn't figure a mercenary would need to read, but I guess it can't hurt."

"I like to surprise people," the qunari responded, lavender eyes sparking with a benign, almost mischievous amusement. He took a deep drink from his own cup before continuing. "And... you can write and read also, yes?"

Samson nodded, wanting to look wary, but finding himself grinning instead. "Yeah, the chantry did that much for me before tossing me out on my arse. What of it?"

"I had wonder- was wondering..." And here Yaanos paused, and Samson suspected it was not simply because he was struggling to find the words this time. Still, the smuggler waited, settling back in his seat, crossing his arms, and fixing the mage with a bemused gaze and a sharp smirk.

"I would like to write to you. And to read letters from you, also. Please." The qunari looked slightly sheepish, but he met Samson's gaze and held it, unashamed and earnest. "You are... You were my first friend, and you saved me. And it would help me practice my words more," he added, almost as an afterthought.

"So, you wanna be pen pals, eh?" Samson snorted, but it was without malice. He watched the Tal-Vashoth for a few long moments, his eyes expressing incredulity and interest in equal measure. Finally, he dropped his gaze to the dregs of stew at the bottom of his bowl and the smile slipped gradually from his face. His voice was soft and his expression oddly sober when he spoke next. "I lost everything because of a few letters, you know."

Yaanos did not speak again, simply bowing his head slightly and watching him in respectful silence. Samson knew, without a trace of doubt, that he could refuse without fear of upsetting the great horned giant, that the qunari of all people would understand his reluctance. Making connections was risky, especially in a life like his, where you never knew what the next day might bring you - or what it might take from you.

Yet, somehow, he found himself nodding.

 _Never could resist doing something stupid for a kid too kind for his own good,_ he thought, Maddox's soft chuckle echoing in his ears.

"Yeah, alright."

Yaanos' smile could have lit the entire damn pub, he swore it. Samson shifted, unable to look at him directly - it was like looking at the sun, all bright and full of energy that could only be harnessed in bits and pieces, never truly bridled - and reached instead for his cup. He raised it to his lips, only to remember that he'd drained it already.

"But you owe me another few drinks first."

Once again, the qunari seemed to be a few steps ahead. The bartender had descended on them with another armful of drinks before Samson realized it, and Samson could only laugh as he raised a new mug to his lips. Whether he was laughing at Yaanos or at himself, he couldn't quite tell.

\---

"I have an-- a... thing for you," Yaanos murmured as Samson pushed the door shut behind them. He was already crouched beside the bed, rummaging in his pack for something, but he sat up and ran his fingers over his lips in agitation as he tried to recall the appropriate word. "I have... _kaffas_ , the word is what?" His brows furrowed and his fingertips traced the scarred flesh with increased vigor as he struggled. "Wait-- present!"

While Yaanos was fumbling, the ex-templar took a moment to cast an appreciative glance around the room - a bit small, and sparsely furnished, but warm and well-lit and comfortable, which was leagues above what he could say of any of the places he'd been sleeping lately.

"Oi, enough already," the older of the two scolded with an incredulous chuckle. He'd only ever seen the qunari become flustered once or twice before, and the curse - for there could be no mistaking it from the hissed undertone in which it was spoken - seemed almost absurd, coming from such a polite mouth. "You've already pushed me into takin' your food and sharin' your room. That's enough charity for one night, don't ya think?"

"These are all things that you need," Yaanos protested without even sparing the human a glance, reaching deeper into his bag. "You give me-- gave me what I need, before. Now, I give it to you."

The frustration finally disappeared from his face as he seemed to find what he sought, and the mage rose to his feet, a tiny bundle of cloth gripped gently in one huge gray hand. He stepped closer to Samson, holding out the gift with a smile that seemed a little sadder than the ones that came before. "Charity is not right word. It is... debt. Thankful-- Gratoon..."

"Gratitude," Samson gently supplied, shaking his head and stepping closer to eye the little package. "And I already told ya, there's no debt. Ya don't owe me anything."

Despite his complaints, he had to admit that he was curious, and after a pause, he reached out to pluck the bundle delicately from the palm of Yaanos' hand. It was light, and it clicked quietly as he rolled it from one hand to the other; on closer inspection, it seemed to emit a soft glow through the fabric.

It was that final clue that had Samson tearing the twine from the package with a sudden, desperate ferocity, and as the top layer of cotton slipped away, he sucked in a greedy breath that might have become a moan if he hadn't cut it off. In his palm lay three tiny vials of bright blue liquid, glinting innocently in the firelight of the candelabra mounted on the ceiling. He didn't think he'd ever seen a lovelier sight.

_Lyrium._

"Andraste's tits, Yaanos," he swore, licking his lips and scarcely able to tear his gaze from the bottles in his hand, finding them more precious than twice their weight in gold. "These are for me?"

"I do not use it much," the qunari shrugged, and this time he was the one looking vaguely uncomfortable. "My magic, my... mana, it is-- there is much of it, so I do not often need this. My company gives it to me, and I think, 'Samson can maybe use this more than I.' Yes?"

"Sweet Maker," Samson began, finally meeting Yaanos' eyes. "I can't-- Bloody hell, Yaanos, this is enough to last for months, if I'm real careful with it."

"Please, do that," Yaanos urged, gently resting one hand on Samson's shoulder. "My company, they say... I tell them, 'I have a friend, he hurts because he needs lyrium and cannot have it,' and they tell me 'He needs friends, needs help, or he will always need lyrium, until it kills him.'" Yaanos' expression was dangerously serious, and Samson set the bottles down on the table beside them gingerly, ignoring the way his hands had started to shake.

"I cannot be here always, to help you like you need," the mage continued, brows furrowed as though that fact pained him. "And you cannot leave and come with me, like I want. Until we can fix this hurt, I want to make it go away." Samson met his gaze, and was startled to realize that there were the beginnings of tears standing in those soft lavender eyes. "I cannot let the lyrium take you away. If you died because you cannot find lyrium, I-- fasta vass, do not make me think of it. I will help--"

Samson wasn't sure if it was the vague haze of the ale, the delirious joy from having access to lyrium, or just the way that Yaanos was looking at him, but he couldn't bear it any longer. With a soft snarl, he reached up to grab a fistful of the qunari's jacket and yanked him down into a harsh kiss. The mage made a startled noise against his lips, but did not pull away. After a moment, he felt those scarred lips begin to move, reciprocating the kiss eagerly, if a bit clumsily.

After a few seconds, the human broke away to murmur a breathless promise against the qunari's lips.

"I'm not goin' anywhere, kid. And tonight, neither are you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was only supposed to be two parts, but this bit got away from me and became way longer than I expected. Smut is coming in the next chapter, I promise, and that will be the end to this little piece.
> 
> All your kind comments on my writing and on Yaanos are deeply appreciated - they've been such a huge source of inspiration for me!  
> As always, thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

Several blurry minutes later, Samson found himself straddling Yaanos atop the threadbare mattress, his lips pressed hungrily to the qunari's. Somewhere along the way, both men had been divested of their jerkins and undershirts, and now their hands roamed over each other's torsos, their touches somewhere between eager and hesitant.

"Alright, wait," the smuggler panted as he broke away, chest heaving lightly. Yaanos' eyes were a bit unfocused for a moment, and Samson felt a twinge of feral pride at just how thoroughly he'd managed to undo the qunari already. "You still with me, kid?"

Yaanos' gaze refocused instantly once prompted, and he leveled it at Samson with a smile that was at once mischievous and embarrassed. "Yes," he breathed, his thick fingers slipping down Samson's back to settle at the tops of his hips.

"Before we do anythin' else, I need to know that you're alright," the human pressed, watching Yaanos intently. "We both had a bit to drink, and I'm-- Well, I don't want this to be somethin' else you're doin' because you think you owe me somethin'," he added with a frown.

The qunari watched him as he spoke, his smile growing wider and his eyes narrowing with a fondness that was evident in any language. He shook his head reassuringly once Samson had finished, but the once-templar reached up to cup the side of his face and forced their eyes to meet.

"You understand me, yeah? I need to know this is somethin' you actually want, not just somethin' you're doin' to humor me, or 'cause you're too sloshed to tell me no."

Yaanos shook his head once more, one hand trailing up Samson's arm to grip the hand that held his face. He gave it a delicate squeeze, then turned to press a soft kiss to the human's rough palm. "I want it," he assured the older man with another smile. "And I did not drinked enough... drink enough?" He shook his head with a soft chuckle. "I am not drunk." Then, again, "I want it. You. Please."

"Alright," Samson relented, his eyes searching the qunari's for one final moment before he settled back onto mage's thighs and pulled his hand free of Yaanos'. "Good."

Gently, the human reached up to tug at the frayed ribbon that kept the qunari's hair tied in a neat bun at the back of his head, and watched in satisfaction as that all that hair - a red as deep and dark as blood - came spilling down over those broad shoulders. "Your hair's gotten longer," he commented, cording a hand through the coarse red strands before seizing a fistful and using it to force Yaanos' head back. "It suits you," he ground out in a low murmur of approval as he pressed his lips to the exposed flesh of the mage's throat. He felt a jolt of fierce delight course through him as Yaanos moaned aloud, the sound making that tender skin vibrate beneath his lips.

"Samson," the qunari whispered, the word breathless and pleading. The hand on Samson's waist began to tremble slightly, but one lightly-calloused thumb managed to stroke along the crown of his hip.

The smuggler said nothing, only raked his teeth harshly along the underside of that smooth gray jaw, then shifted to seize the soft skin stretched over the qunari's collarbone between his incisors. He was rewarded with a keening whimper, this noise louder than the last, and Samson's grin was downright devilish as he released his grip on Yaanos' hair and pulled back to look him in the eye.

"Guess it shouldn't really surprise me that you like it rough," he observed, his voice low and gravelly and thick with desire. "Wonder what else we can ferret out about you, Adaar."

It was difficult to tell in the shifting firelight, but Samson could have sworn that the qunari's cheeks and ears had grown a shade or two darker.

"What does-- what do _you_ like, Samson?" Yaanos asked after a moment's silence, those warm lilac eyes attentive and concerned, even half-lidded with want as they were.

The older man snorted gracelessly, running a hand down the qunari's chest and along the solid plane of his stomach. "Oh, I'm not real picky," he answered, eyes falling to contemplate the curve of that thick neck again. "But I like it best when I can make people come apart."

"I think you will like me, then," Yaanos replied with a bemused chuckle of his own. "I am been-- I was told that I am noisy and... which word, which..."

Samson drew his gaze back toward the qunari's face, which was screwed up in thoughtful contemplation, and he barked out a soft laugh. "Cute, if I had to guess."

The mage's brows rose and he nodded a bit, too enthusiastic about having found the right word to be embarrassed. "Yes, that was it, I think." His smile faded to something contemplative and tender as he cast his gaze down across the ex-templar's body, and both of his hands set to wandering about Samson's chest as he spoke. "But you..." The qunari trailed off, and as the silence stretched longer between them, Samson felt himself growing a touch self-conscious at the scrutiny.

"What about me?" the human prompted with a challenging quirk of one dark brow. "Might not be much to look at these days, but I'm still-"

"So thin," Yaanos murmured, those warm fingers achingly gentle as they trailed along Samson's stomach and traced the faint outline of his ribs. "So, so thin," he repeated, and there was a deep sorrow in his voice, a palpable regret that made Samson almost as angry as it made him hurt. He wanted to protest, to tell the mage to stop worrying about him, but he couldn't deny that that concern lit a peculiar warmth in the pit of his stomach that had nothing to do with his building arousal.

"And you've gotten even bigger," the human hummed instead, head dipping low to nip at the underside of one of the qunari's pectorals, earning him a low groan. He ran a hand along Yaanos' arm, then gave one thick bicep an appreciative squeeze before he pressed their hips together in a swift, fluid motion. The mage squirmed beneath him, dusky skin growing darker as he flushed and bit back a whimper, and Samson grinned wolfishly. "But that still ain't stoppin' me from makin' you moan, so I don't see what difference it makes."

Yaanos seemed to have no response to that, and Samson snaked an arm around his neck to pull him down into another fierce kiss before he could concoct one.

The next few moments were a lust-addled haze of motion, but they ended with the qunari flat on his stomach, breeches yanked halfway down his thighs, and Samson pressed close against his back, his own pants tangled about his knees. The ex-templar's erection pressed hard into Yaanos' lower back, and the qunari rocked back against him with a low groan of approval. Yaanos was clearly enjoying the older man's enthusiasm, but frankly, Samson felt a bit like a rutting dog, and had to force himself to stillness to keep from going too far before Yaanos was ready.

It was almost embarrassing, just how starved Samson was for this. He wanted to chalk it up to not having had anyone, man or woman, in-- Maker, how long had it even _been?_ \- but he knew that wasn't the truth, not all of it. Yaanos was sweet and earnest and had hit nearly every single one of Samson's weak points, even during those months when they'd barely been able to communicate, and for him to come back now, all aglow with enthusiasm and affection and gratitude, and having packed on a fair bit of muscle besides...

"I'm not exactly prepared, here," he admitted with a breathy snicker. "Not to ruin the mood or anything, but all I've got is spit. Unless you've got somethin' better, I'll--"

"No," Yaanos asserted in a voice that was only slightly firmer than the smuggler expected. "I know a... move-- a trick," he explained, reaching back to wrap his fingers around Samson's cock. Within seconds, a strange cooling sensation spread along the length of his erection, and a violent shiver shook the human from head to toe. All told, the feeling was strange, but not at all unpleasant, and when he looked down, his cock seemed to be gleaming with a barely-visible layer of... something.

"Is that... ice?" he asked incredulously, turning his critical gaze up towards Yaanos.

The qunari made a noncomittal gesture with his hand as he pulled it away to grip at the headboard above him. "Almost. It is-- well, it is magic. That is enough to say," he replied, sounding somewhat exasperated, and Samson was amused to see that his face was still flushed. "There is a better way, but it is longer, and I do not want to wait any more. This will be alright."

"Looks like you weren't bluffin' about wantin' this," the human teased, breath warm against a pointed ear as he pressed close once more and slipped a hand between them to grip his arousal. He'd been planning on perhaps a bit more preparation, but he was so hard it actually hurt, and it seemed as though even sweet, long-suffering Yaanos was running out of patience. The foreplay and the lube - if he could even call that bizarre magic trick lube - would have to do. Positioning himself at the qunari's entrance, Samson paused to release a long breath. "Lucky for you, I'm happy to oblige."

With that, he pushed himself inside. Yaanos moaned beneath him, low and soft, and he could see the muscles in the qunari's lower back and thighs beginning to tense. Samson had to bite back a groan of his own at the sight, but couldn't help shifting his hands to grip the mage's hips with a little more force than was strictly necessary.

"Easy now," the Marcher murmured, his voice nearly a purr in the Vashoth's ear as he sunk deeper, inch by inch. "Don't push yourself."

The qunari shook his head minutely, the hand on the bedpost tightening visibly. "No, please. I am fine, it is just... good, it is..." He paused, and as Samson finally bottomed out, he furrowed his brows with a soft cry. "It is... very good, but so _slow_. I want it, _you_ , Samson, please..."

"Well, since you're askin' so nicely," the human whispered, his grin dagger-sharp and audible in the soft rush of his voice. "It'd be my pleasure to fuck you 'till you're screamin'."

And that was precisely what he did; within minutes, his hips were slamming into Adaar's with force enough to bruise. His breathing was coming harder now, and sweat was beading on his brow as he alternated between grunts of effort and hissed curses of sacrilege and satisfaction. Beneath him, the qunari was beside himself with pleasure, arching his back and loosing moan after wanton moan into the pillow pressed against his face.

Just as Adaar had promised, he was coming apart beautifully at Samson's touch. One hand still clung desperately to the bedpost, thick fingers clutching so hard that the wood was making groans of its own, and the other was trembling as it scrabbled for purchase along the sheets beneath them. His dark skin was warm, flushed, and deliciously sensitive, if the hitched little whimpers he gave every time the human's hands roamed away from his hips to drag ragged nails down his back or along his sides were any indication. Every now and again, he would gasp something low and guttural, but it, like his pleading moans, was too muffled to make sense of, due to just how deeply Yaanos had buried his face into that pillow.

That, Samson decided, simply wouldn't do.

"On your knees," he growled, abruptly shifting his grip on the mage's hips to wrap his arms about that thick waist and guide him upward. As they shuffled together awkwardly to readjust, the qunari scrambling to his knees and the human pushing himself up on one leg, the Marcher was pleased to realize that Yaanos' erection was as hard as his own. Those muscular gray thighs were trembling, but they held firm as the Vashoth leveraged himself up on his forearms, releasing the battered wooden post almost reluctantly to grip instead at one edge of the bed. He turned his head sluggishly to glance back at Samson, red brows raised slightly in wordless concern, but the human's devious smirk seemed to reassure him, and his own scarred lips twitched into a content smile before he faced forward again.

"Aye, there's a good boy." The smuggler's praise was hoarse and husky, his voice having dropped lower than ever as another sharp snap of his hips robbed them both of breath. "Let me hear you, now."

And oh, he certainly heard him.

Somehow he hadn't expected just how loud the qunari would be without that damned pillow smothering him, but he was fairly certain the patrons in neighboring rooms would be giving them funny looks come morning. Still, the human was amused and aroused beyond measure - between the new angle and the lack of a muffling agent, each rough pump of his hips wrung a strangled cry or a pleading Tevene curse from the mage that echoed around the room. A vicious, victorious grin edged its way onto the ex-templar's face as he pushed into the qunari again and again, and he felt his blood racing through his veins, thunderous in his ears and hot at his cheeks.

Overcome by a heady sense of power, Samson reached up to wrap a hand around one of Yaanos' horns. He heard Adaar's breath hitch as his fingers ran along its length; it curved and arced back from the qunari's skull, almost snakelike in its pattern, and the keratin was rough to the touch, but it provided excellent traction as the human tightened his grip and _jerked_. He wrenched the mage's head back and felt a savage satisfaction as Yaanos wailed, the sound one of pain laced through with desire.

"Those horns a bit sensitive?" Samson teased, lips tickling the cusp of the Vashoth's ear. His only reply was ragged breathing, and he glanced down to make certain that he hadn't gone too far. But no, the mage's lilac eyes were half-lidded but blazing and those full, scarred lips parted to allow a belated whimper of assent. "Aye, seems they are... but you like it, don't you?"

As if to prove his point, he tugged just a touch harder on Yaanos' horn just as he ground his hips closer against the qunari's, and the choked scream he got in response sent a thrilling, thrumming jolt of electricity through his veins. The younger man's neck was straining lightly, his broad chest heaving and the muscles all through his back knotting up tense against Samson's chest, and the combined sensations were enough to coax a pleased groan from the human, as well. Yet again, he was reminded of the sheer strength of the man beneath him, the raw power lent to him by that massive frame and the magic that buzzed in his blood. It was almost intoxicating, knowing the kind of impact he was having on such a man, and he found he couldn't keep it to himself.

"Look at you." Samson's words were soft and dangerous, like the flash of steel beneath silk. "A mighty qunari, a fearsome Tal-Vashoth, and a wicked mage besides," he continued, punctuating each phrase with a short thrust and reveling in the strangled moans that leaked out through Adaar's lips. "And here you are, gettin' fucked into the mattress by a washed-up ex-templar criminal," he hissed, teeth closing hard around the pointed tip of the qunari's ear. Another desperate cry of arousal from the mage as he pumped his hips again, rougher this time, then, "A human half your weight an' with none of your magic, makin' you scream and beg." He pulled back to sink his teeth into the mage's shoulder, then pistoned his hips against Adaar's once more. His voice dropped to a whisper as he stilled, cock buried deeply in the man beneath him. "It's pathetic. And you fuckin' _love_ it, don't you?"

Adaar could only nod, wordless pleas falling from his mouth as he bucked desperately, pushing back against Samson in an effort to get his hips moving again. The Marcher was resolute, however, and refused to move, instead pulling hard on that horn once more and delivering a sharp slap to the qunari's ass.

"Admit it," he prompted, the gravelly growl in his voice unable to conceal the way it shook with the unbelievable effort it took to show restraint. "As best you can, tell me how much you love it."

The words spilled from between Adaar's lips like floodwaters through a shattered dam - slowly, at first, in stuttered bits and pieces, then all in a rush, threatening to overwhelm the man that held him. "I-- It is... Please, you... Samson, I want it. I want-- _kaffas_ , more, please! I like it, I-- Do not do this, Samson, _please_ ," and so on, until the human finally made a sound caught somewhere between a chuckle and a snarl and began to fuck him again, their hips slamming together with renewed fervor.

Samson set a brutal pace this time, and kept his grip on Yaanos' horn as they moved. Their motions were far from graceful, and more than once their rhythm would falter and they would have to begin anew, but both men were more than satisfied, if the sounds they made were any indication.

" _Maker_ , but you feel good," the smuggler murmured into Adaar's shoulder as their pace stuttered again, too turned on to be embarrassed at his own candor. The qunari was warm and firm and eager, muscles pulling taut beneath his hands and ass clenching tight around his cock. He wasn't exactly the most skilled, and the difference between their heights made things a bit awkward more than once, but he was still one of the best lays Samson had ever had.

"You... also..." The words were so soft and breathless that Samson almost missed them, but Yaanos' reply had him grinning again.

"Aye, I'd gathered as much from the noises you're makin'," he snickered, but ran a hand up along the qunari's back in appreciation nonetheless.

The room was quickly becoming a sauna; the air was thick with the hazy heat of their exertion, and coupled with the crackling warmth of the fireplace, it teetered somewhere between intoxicating and suffocating. Both men were nearing the limits of their stamina, with their muscles beginning to shake and their panting coming in sharper gasps.

Thankfully, their other limits weren't far off, either.

"Samson," the mage finally choked out, voice raspy from the sharp angle of his throat. "I'm-- near, almost to..."

"Yeah?" came the brusque reply, the smuggler feeling his own peak approaching rapidly. "You wanna come, Adaar? Tell me-"

"Please," Yaanos broke in instantly, impatience bleeding into his supplication. "Please, Samson, let me--"

"Alright." Samson relented immediately, realizing that they were both too exhausted and too close to the edge to be playing this kind of game for long. He shifted his hand from the qunari's hip to slip around his cock instead, and Yaanos cried out and bucked into his grip, free hand fisting desperately in the sheets below.

"Good man," the human murmured, his thrusts growing erratic as he attempted to split his focus between stroking the qunari's cock, holding his head in place, and pumping his hips. After a few moments longer, he hissed a quiet curse and released the mage's horn, bringing the freed hand back to steady himself on Adaar's hip. The Vashoth's head fell forward, deep red hair cascading down his shoulders to hang around his face, and Samson pressed his own forehead to the qunari's muscled back, ignoring the way his sweat had his own hair plastered against the back of his neck and the side of his face.

It didn't take long until Yaanos was arching against him hard and bellowing a wordless cry; a second later, his forearms finally gave out, and he slumped forward onto his shoulders and covered his own chest and the sheets beneath them in his seed.

"Oi, careful now," Samson chided, struggling to adjust to the new angle before the qunari's legs gave out, as well. He needn't have worried, though - the mage's entire body was taut and tight around him and under him with the force of his orgasm, and it took only a few more thrusts until he too was spent, emptying himself inside the mage with a shuddering groan and a gasp.

A few seconds later, almost as if on cue, Adaar's shaking knees began to slip, and just like that he was back on his belly. The Marcher collapsed atop him, too satisfied and too exhausted to be indignant. They lay there in silence for a few long moments, attempting to even out their breathing and reveling in the afterglow of their climaxes.

Finally, Samson rolled onto his side, one hand on the qunari's waist urging him to roll over, as well. The giant obeyed, and reached up to place his own hand over Samson's on his hip as the human pressed a few soft kisses to the bitemarks he'd left scattered over the mage's back and shoulders.

"Sorry 'bout those," he whispered, but the slight grin playing about his lips seemed to suggest otherwise. "Your armor oughta cover most of 'em, though."

"I like the bites," Yaanos confessed with a smile. "And anyway, it is not a very bad thing if people know I had been-- had sex, yes?"

With a snort, the ex-templar rolled his eyes and pulled away. "You're too much, Adaar." He forced himself to his feet and padded across the room to retrieve the cleaning cloth draped over a chair. He wet it in the washbasin near the fireplace, then returned to the bed, prodding Yaanos until he rolled onto his back.

"Not much we can do about the sheets, I don't think," the human noted, gently wiping down the mage's chest and stomach. He mopped up the messy remains that clung to the fabric, but gave a shrug as he realized that one patch remained darker than the others. "What's one more stain in a place like this, eh?"

Standing again, he moved to toss the damp cloth back into the basin, then dropped back onto the bed with a heavy sigh. His muscles ached and he was still coated in a fine sheen of perspiration, but he could think of few more pleasant reasons for it. The qunari pushed himself back onto his side and wrapped an arm around the older man's waist. Surprisingly, the smuggler found himself completely at ease, even in a bed that struggled to accommodate the two of them side-by-side.

"I'll still be expectin' those letters, Adaar," Samson muttered after several long minutes of comfortable silence, and he felt the bed shake slightly with the qunari's soft laughter in response.

"Of course. There will be many letters, very many, and these will be good for you," Yaanos assured him, curling a little closer around him. "Er... I hope," he added, slightly sheepish.

As Samson lay there, he tried to ignore the clenching in his gut as his gaze fell onto the vials glimmering blue on the bedside table. He grit his teeth for a moment, eyes squeezing shut.

"Aye. I'll be lookin' forward to 'em, then."

_I hope so, too, kid. I really do._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's finally finished! I apologize for the wait, but hopefully the length of this makes up for it in some small way. Or maybe that makes it worse... either way, it's done!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who took the time to read this, like it, or comment on it - every single bit of validation means the world to me!


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